


Tumblr Drabble Requests

by magichandthing



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Choking, Multi, Reader Insert, Smut, lol, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23258392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magichandthing/pseuds/magichandthing
Summary: Dumping my tumblr requests here! Lots of smut and whatever else people request.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 174





	1. Chapter 1

> listen you say boba fett thigh riding im gonna go fucking feral!!! foaming at the mouth!! i'm on some grr grr bark bark type shit!!! if you wrote a drabble i would DIE (no pressure tho do what u want😅 you're awesome 💛)

* * *

He was just sitting there. 

That’s all he was fucking doing- sitting slack-legged, thighs spread, in the pilot’s seat, currently occupied with a glitchy hologram. And here he was, minding his goddamned business, unaware – or uncaring- why his bounty was suddenly _silent_ , while you watched the way his sinewy muscles jumped with every movement, the way his tactical pants stretched so _deliciously_ over his thigh as he slapped the malfunctioning console. 

The ship rumbled around you with the quiet din of hyperspace, stream of passing starlight lighting the cockpit in a cool, blue hue, but that did nothing to hide the way your face flushed _red_ , creeping up your ears and down your neck. 

You watched him struggle, for a moment, eager to hear his snuffed grunts of frustration, but your eyes fell back to his fucking lap, and gods, you wished you could perch yourself up on it, just feel the solid meat of his thigh pressed right up against your- 

_“Can I help you?”_

You blustered, caught peeping and he _knew_. Fett was turned away from you, still, as his fists stayed buried in the jungle of wires under the main communications console- but you knew he had some insane sense of awareness that ratted out your perverse staring. Your voice caught high in your throat when his hands brushed dangerously close to an exposed wire, one you knew would hurt, if not straight up kill him- an excellent bounty hunter, he was, but an engineer he was not. And despite the fact you knew _his_ death would mean _you_ lived, you still needed someone to pilot your ass down to a safe planet.

“No,” You whispered, jumping in your seat as a spark flew angrily from the mangled console, and you rose, finally, unable to withstand watching just how _boorishly_ he tore at the poor thing. “But I can help you with-“ 

The world spun and you felt the air quite forcibly leave your lungs, back colliding heavily with the floor beneath you, thoughts rattling in your skull uselessly as you desperately tried to understand _what_ just happened. It wasn’t until you felt the hand around your throat, a solid thigh between yours, immobilizing you that your lame brain finally caught up. 

Oh, that’s right. It probably wasn’t the best idea to just jump up behind an experienced bounty hunter- of whom you were the bounty. You gasped for air, smaller, bound hands clawing at his gloved ones, cursing your love of mechanics and your soft heart. 

_“Don’t move.”_ He snarled, and _oh_ , you squeezed your thighs around his involuntarily, core clenching at the sound of his breathless voice, adorned beautifully with his thick accent and an undercurrent of frustration. Your head swam with the lack of oxygen, your sex greedily rerouting what little blood-flow you had left to fuel your inappropriate arousal. 

His grip softened, somewhat, when he felt you squirm, when he heard your _gasps_. Slowly, predatorily, his helmet tipped down, the dark cross of his visor landing square to observe the way you pressed yourself against his thigh, hips twitching, and whether it was from the lack of air or _pleasure_ , he didn’t care. 

_“You can help me?”_ Fett jammed his thigh closer to you, helmet trained on the curve of your crotch meeting the meat of his leg, and you choked, face flushing with embarrassment and need. _“I doubt it.”_

At your pathetic inhale, the bounty hunter chuckled darkly, and fuck, the sound should send fear to your hopeless brain, but instead your body betrayed you, blush creeping down your neck to settle sweetly across your collarbones. Your tunic, as if in the conspiracy against you, laid just a touch open, baring a blushing shoulder to the man above you. His grip loosened, just enough to free your constricted airway, and you gulped down great gasps of air, vision blurred. 

The rush of oxygen, adrenaline, and pleasure pushed a breathy, low moan from your lips. 

_“I asked you a question, quarry.”_ He growled, low, dangerous, and you nodded, inhaling sharply when he shifted his thigh, grinding against _you_. It felt as delicious as it had looked earlier, the pressure blossoming to liquid pleasure, heat racing through your core with every insistent nudge and you couldn’t help but moan earnestly, now, planting your feet onto the floor for leverage. Fett growled at that, animalistic and _vulgar_ , free hand pawing at your tunic to reveal the soft curves of your chest. 

“F-fuck-“ You whimpered, hips bucking on their own against his thigh, your underwear a right _mess_ with the evidence of your building arousal. “ _Please_ -“

His thumb brushed against your nipple, coarse and gritty from the worn gloves, though fuck if you cared, fuck if it didn’t feel _amazing_. Electric pleasure ran up your spine, goosebumps chasing after it on your skin and you keened, hips rolling- seeking _more_. It didn’t matter anymore that he captured you, that you were being shipped off to certain doom, all you cared about was tending to your mounting orgasm, shaking thighs clamping tight around the bounty hunter’s. 

_“What makes you think you can ask for anything?”_ He spat, though the bite to his tone was gone, replaced with the airy breathlessness you’ve heard before and knew as arousal. You whimpered again, a quiet, heartbreaking sound and you felt him still, felt the thumb on your nipple still, and watched as he took a ragged breath in, hand around your neck shifting _up_. 

You, with the last shred of your self-preservation positively disintegrated, pushed your hips up, your own thigh brushing his codpiece, eyes locked onto his visor as you gasped, “Because I know you want it, too.” 

The choking pressure was back, harder than before, and your eyes rolled back into your skull, moans shamelessly spilling from you like the wet from your core. Fuck, you were so, so, _so_ close, burning bright just from grinding yourself against his thigh with his hand pinning you down by your throat, squeezing the air and _orgasm_ out of you. His hands rooted under your tunic, gripping your chest, your sides, grasping every soft part of you like he’d never felt before. That did it- the heady pawing so desperate like _you_ \- and you keened, high and stuttering as you came, fingers clenching helplessly around the exposed skin of his wrist, legs tense and taut unlike the absolute release you were feeling. 

Your mind was pleasantly blank, thighs trembling and splayed wide, the seam of your pants where your legs met hips dark and damp with the proof of your orgasm. Dimly, you felt his hand slack around your- undoubtedly bruised- neck and heard his ragged breath from under the helmet, before he stood, adjusting his gauntlets. 

Fuck it, you thought, remaining boneless on the floor, watching him return to the broken console like he didn’t just make you cum half of your brain out your ears. A sharp jolt and a stifled grunt from him pulled a quiet laugh out of you. He turned to face you, soundless, though you could feel his glare, his bristly pout. 

“You know, I was a radar tech. But I guess you don’t need my help.” 

He sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I must request Boba giving his female s/o aftercare and praise with some touching and such? :333 Boba being loving after being rough af makes me weeeeak.

You were so good for him, tonight.

Normally, you were a firecracker- all fiery snark and sarcastic attitude- which he didn’t mind of course, silently enjoying the way you proved a challenge to anyone and everyone who dared. It wasn’t as though you were always that way, though, only a few months earlier just a novice hunter who had pleaded him to mentor.

Boba Fett still wasn’t sure why he agreed. It was the first time batting eyes, full of fire and will, had made him pause in that way.

At first, gods, he hated being stuck with you, hated that he promised you he’d help you, hated the way your inexperience would muddle his missions. He’d lost a bounty because of your ineptitude, but stars, you looked so broken from it, all innocent eyes and quivering lip despite the spit of unearned pride from them. He couldn’t help but hold his tongue.

But it didn’t stop him from punishing you, later. 

And the pain didn’t stop you from relenting, from submitting- not born of fear, but of trust. You wanted to be better, like him.

Something had unlocked something deep inside him- the desire to teach, the desire to guide, the desire to protect you. But he also knew he couldn’t go soft- that you’d sooner die in this line of work from his gentle hand over swift punishment and he’d be the only one to blame. You needed to really learn, really understand the consequences of your actions, understand that death was not so kind to your tears.

Death was not merciful, but he was- though he’d never admit it, his demeanor frigid and unyielding to your many slip-ups, to your over eager spunk. Try as he might, though, you could see through his façade, see how your warmth melted him to his core- the punishments never escalated beyond your limit, beyond what you allowed.

Tonight was no exception.

Through pain came strength, and of all the people in the world Boba knew that best. And he was no stranger to tears, no stranger to begging, but stars, hearing his name fall from you lips as he spanked you, as he fucked you, made him want to draw you close into his arms, to soothe you. Not yet, he thought, waiting for your inevitable collapse, waiting for you to finally push beyond your newly-forged boundary.

And ah, there it was, the moment you let go, yielded to the pain and pleasure, muscles going lax as you mentally stepped over your own limit and drew down a new line of tolerance. 

He stopped, then, always. 

You were usually a mess by then, damp from head-to-toe, quaking with increased ferocity, and he drew you in then, skin-to-skin, soothing. He’d shush you, stroking feathery lines up your back, down your sides, waiting patiently for the moment your cries would hush down to mere whimpers. But most importantly, the helmet came off, his own sweaty forehead against yours- grounding.

He never said much, still, but it was okay. You were okay. It felt as though you were floating, mindless and sore, until his forehead settled against you, until his hands gripped your sides and forced you to land. Slowly, you came to from the fog, leaning heavily against him, abused skin screaming with the ache that came from his punishment, though his hands would quickly stroke to assuage you and calm your fiery nerves.

Rough thumbs brushed tears from your cheeks, and you leaned in, a heavy sigh escaping you as with the rest of your worries. You laughed wetly when you felt soft kisses tickle your face, stubble scraping against your own smooth cheeks, across your brow bone, and chin. You let your eyes flutter open, fully seeing, and looked at your mentor, your heart, smiling. He pulled back, minutely, to look at you.

“Good girl. You did so good.”

You preened in the praise, boneless, heart thumping.


End file.
